Of Sleep Deprived

Of sleep deprived,
I have arrived,
to a place of wrought.

To stare at the screen,
without a dream,
interceding on my thought.

To try to compose,
while the end of my nose,
dives into the extreme.

Asleep at the wheel,
I try to feel,
the edges of my stream.

But it is for naught,
for without a thought,
I’m live at some scene.

Only to awake,
after a brief break,
start over from when.

Woe is the cost,
of all this time lost,
I will never, ever have it, again.

While MacArthur Park,
Melts in the dark.
I drift off in the rain.

MacArthur Park Melting

Thank you, Jimmy Webb


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Copyright 2010 © Ronald W. Hull